


Under Her Skin

by fiftyshadesofgreywarden



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4487880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiftyshadesofgreywarden/pseuds/fiftyshadesofgreywarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Fenris and Marian Hawke as she struggles to keep a grip on reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

Marian Hawke remembers the first time Fenris touched her. She’d been knocked against a cave wall by an infuriated spider who didn't like her trying to slice its abdomen open. They had been taken by surprise and Marian hadn't been wearing her helm, indeed it had been clanking mockingly from its place on her belt. Not so surprisingly, she’d cracked her head on the rock face, leaving her a bleeding and blabbering mess with a rolling belly and blurry vision.Fenris had been the first to reach her, pulling off his gauntlets so he could cradle her head and push the perforated skin together as he shouted at Anders to hurry the hell up. As the elf's fingers probed around the wound, pushing the blood soaked skin together amongst the mass of blood, Marian had gasped - something Fenris had immediately mistaken for pain, judging from him murmured apologies. The sensation had been anything but: the touch had brought some relief from the head-splitting pain and with it, the familiar and reassuring heightened awareness that Marian could only attribute to one thing: Lyrium.

Anders had worked quickly, clearing the wound of hair, dirt and rock before magically knitting the skin back together. When Fenris had removed his blood slick hands from her head Marian had noticed how he moved away from her, keeping his blood-soaked hands in front of him with his face screwed up. The pounding in her head returned with a vengeance along with a ringing pain in her ears: a by product of her head injury no doubt. Frowning, she clenched her hands in to fists and closed her eyes for the briefest of moments. This was another mystery to add to the pile that Fenris presented her with, but this was the one mystery that Marian wanted to know the answer too.  

Fenris was at once handsome and a mystery. With the shock of white hair and Lyrium brands that without a doubt decorated his entire body, based on his arms, neck and where they peeked out from his trousers on his feet. The way his eyes narrowed warily at the mention of slavers or magic had incited unvoiced curiosities in Marian for past months since he had pledged his services to her. When they weren't tersely debating the merits of magic and just how safe they were with Bethany, Anders and Merrill around, Marian could swear that their conversations took the flirtatious turn. It would flit from his mouth whenever his tastes in Tevene wine and his ability to flatter the opposite sex became the topic of conversation, which somehow was more often than not. But that was neither here nor there, Marian wanted Fenris to touch her - even if it were a finger on her shoulder, just to relieve the pounding pain that echoed through her mind. She didn't ask though, the closed off and angry hunch of the elf's shoulder spoke for him: 'come near me and die'. Instead, she pushed on with each step that took them closer to Kirkwall becoming harder and harder.  

The  _second time_ Fenris touched Marian, she had been standing what had once been a sitting room, trying to hide the smirk as she took in the elf's primitive form of 'home decoration'. Ferreting around the Alienage after a tousle with one of the Kirkwall gangs had given her a book about Shartan and for some reason, Marian had decided that it was a novel of way of showing the broody elf that slaves could, would and had risen against their oppressors and masters. Upon seeing the gift, Fenris had chewed her head off for the assumption that slaves could read. Her equally heated response of 'you could ask me to teach the bloody slave' had turned Fenris mute as he stared first at her and then the book and Marian had turned back to musing over the decor of the dilapidating mansion, focusing particularly on a stain in the carpet that scarily resembled the Viscount. Long arms that belonged to Fenris had wrapped around her shoulders, squeezing in the briefest of hugs before Fenris' hands moved up her arms to rest on her shoulders. Lips had brushed against her ear as Fenris whispered his thanks and acceptance of Marian’s offer to teach him to read. Marian swallowed partially in nerves, partially in anticipation.

Marian couldn't conceal the slightest of trembles that filled her body at the contact. Where his hands touched her shoulders, she felt the achingly familiar sting of flame and the invigorating energy of the lyrium as it pushed through her body and Marian didn't want it to end. Slowly she turned so she faced Fenris, staring up at him with her lips parted ever so slightly as she tried to calm her breathing. Never before had lyrium affected her like it did when Fenris touched her and Marian reasoned that if she didn't know better, that she was enthralled by it. Enthralled by the elf who was able to yield lyrium with no noticeable effort at all. Hazel eyes stared at olive green ones and Marian wished for the moment to never end. It was familiar, it was safe. But no one deemed it worthy to fulfil her wish as Fenris stepped away a moment later and Marian found herself mourning the loss of his touch once more.  

She left Fenris to his own devices as the night was turning to morning, thoughts preoccupied with what Fenris caused her to feel as she sliced cheese and  bread and retired to her rooms. There Marian had sat up, watching the sunrise with a hypodermic needle poised over the skin of her thigh, the lyrium contained in the glass beckoning to her. She was ready for the sharp pinch and the rush of the mineral through her veins even as she had her nightly argument with herself that repeated over and over. There were endless pros and cons of having the gift that lyrium afforded her. She needed Lyrium so she could dissolve magic, to protect her friends and her sister.  It extended her physical and mental capabilities...then hands brushing down her back softly, slim fingers digging just so into her skin and the scratch of the thin tunic on her sensitive skin. Pleasing flames lick her skin underneath the pads of Fenris' fingers...

Without another thought, Marian pushes the needle deep into her upper thigh, relishing the sensation of lyrium flowing into her body as the plunger slides home. She lets out a long sigh as she imagines that it's Fenris' touch that caresses her body as it reacts to the whims of the blue mineral.  

                                                                             

                                                           ***                   *                 ***

Hadriana was all kinds of fucked in the head. 

Marian wanted to just stick her in the gut and watch her die a slow and torturous death from her own body fluids for what she had done to Fenris; for what she was doing to countless others. Whilst Fenris and her tended to disagree on pretty much everything, they had built a camaraderie and trust that Marian didn't have with the others - a strange sense of understanding. One day Fenris would want to ream her with his sword for some remark or action and others, it would be her. Still most nights, they spent together; reading books and writing letters or swapping stories whilst drowning their mutual dislike for most of society into pricey Tevene wine. 

It was nice, it was familiar.

But she would never grow used to the sensation of him touching her. At first it was like a rare commodity that she was able to afford sparingly. The occasional, but brief brush of a shoulder or the way he shook her from her light slumber so he could walk her home. Though brief, they had become important; a necessity to every day life like eating and sleeping. The sensation of the lyrium swirling through her and building with intensity as it licked against the lyrium that flowed through Fenris. It was otherworldly and one that Marian never wanted to stop. Sometimes she opened her mouth when Fenris pulled his hand away from her, poised to beg him to put his hand back on her shoulder where it belonged, but she resisted. It was a weakness, this want and she would never utter this weakness to any other, not even to Bethany. 

Hadriana. Hadriana threatened this routine that she had with Fenris and Marian would not have it. 

She pushes down the temptation to gut the mage, instead she lets Fenris take control. He pushes the woman to her knees and a flurry of angry words uttered in Tevene pass from her mouth as Hadriana tries to regain control of the situation. The tone gives way that whatever she's saying isn't anything friendly and she pushes the temptation away again. Then Hadriana speaks of Fenris' sister being alive, announced clearly in Common for everyone to hear and Fenris goes back on his word to keep her alive, like Marian knew would happen. She doesn't hide the fact that she's pleased when Fenris slits her throat with no remorse whatsoever. Even if she does think that Hadriana deserved something much more torturous.  

As he stands, still as a statue over the corpse of his tormenter, Marian gently tugs at his shoulder, whispering that they'll find his sister - that it was over. Fenris jumps back to life, snapping at her and lashing out at her and Marian cannot help but take a step backwards. The elf spits his dislike for giving Orana a job instead of freedom, he spits his hatred for Hadriana and all she does is stare, not knowing what to do or what to say. Marian hates it when he storms off and she realizes that something she had feared, something that had tormented her dreams could become a startling reality. Fenris could leave, haunted by his past to continue his bloody vengeance against the slavers...and he would leave Marian truly alone. It was like a slap in the face, that realization and her hatred for Hadriana increases ten fold.

Then he's gone, but Marian doesn't go after him. Instead she leaves the blasted slave-cave, ready to cut anyone who got on her bad side. 

Three days pass in a blur of self imposed drunkenness and pushing lyrium into herself as Marian's concern for Fenris consumes her fully. She's had one drink too many and weaves her way through the streets of Hightown from the Hanged Man, detouring only to check in on Danarius' mansion that Fenris now claimed as his. Empty, still empty. The foolish hope that he would be in the sitting room, brooding in front of the fire and drinking straight from the bottle. Marian trips through the gate, catching her foot on the step and stops, staring at the lone bench in the foyer. Fenris  _is_ there, head bowed and undoubtedly waiting for her. The sight is enough to sober her enough that she stops swaying on the spot. She keeps staring at the elf as he stands and apologizes for leaving so abruptly. Marian raises an eyebrow as the anger that had been lost to her concern resurfaces with a vengeance, spurred on as Fenris tries to explain the suffering he experienced at Hadriana's hands, how word of her being in the Free Marches had consumed it like an overwhelming itch that he just couldn't scratch. 

"You wanted to kill her," Marrian interrupts when Fenris goes to make another comment. His earlier words rang true in her mind - they mostly never saw eye to eye - but as the elf began to pace the short length of the foyer, demanding answers to his questions, his voice raising with each one. Hadriana had come after  _him._ Was he expected to just surrender? Was he supposed to just let her be and forget the torment and suffering that she had inflicted? They were hard questions, ones that Marian could never answer for him, but she still was determined to make her point. She stopped his pacing by standing in his way, staring Fenris in the eye as she uttered "you think you're free but you are still a slave." 

Eyes bright with fury, hands clenching into tight fists he yells: "you know nothing of being a slave." Marian refuses to flinch, even though she knows that Fenris knows that she can understand. There were things they would never speak of, for Fenris it was his past as a slave under Danarius. For Marian, the philter that she keeps tucked underneath her bed, but the elf knows about it. The agreement had never been broken, until Hadriana and the very real threat that Danarius could find Fenris. Still, he knew that Marian was enslaved just as he had been, even if their masters were very much different. Then the fight leaves his shoulders as he slumps and he shakes head and turns to leave. But Marian isn't satisfied with this sudden burst of defeat. 

"No, you're not leaving," she commands him, stepping closer still and grabbing his arm and clutching it tightly enough that her nails sunk into his flesh. The soft song of lyrium that she always hears in the background grows louder as Fenris' anger flares the lyrium inside him to life. He tries to push her off of him, but she keeps a hold of him. Using his own momentum, she shoves back with frustrated grunt. Fenris pushes her back, shoving her up against the wall. They stare at one another and Marian realizes that Fenris has her pinned in place. Hands pushing her shoulders back and his legs pressing against hers. A shaky breath escapes Marian as the lyrium fades to a soft blue before disappearing. Fenris turns his head away as he lets her go, leaving Marian with the fleeting sensation of a smouldering fire. The anger, the worry, the  _need_ to have him keep his hands on her. It's too much and Marian finally succumbs to it. 

She leans slightly upwards and captures Fenris' lip with her teeth before capturing his lips with hers and their argument is begun anew as their lips mash together. Fenris' hands clad still in his gauntlets dig into her waist as he pulls her closer to him and she lets out a gasp as she lifts herself so she can wrap her legs around Fenris' hips. Marian sinks her teeth into his neck, suckling on the unmarked skin. Every sense is heightened, the lyrium singing a brilliant rhapsody as they move against one another.  

The night was theirs and they were slaves to no one but each other.


	2. Part II

Crowds of Kirkwall’s citizens look up at her, mouths open in praise and happiness. Marian hears nothing. The city still smokes with the bitter reminder of the Qunari’s punishment, of the death wrought from a snapped spring. The morning sun had risen, bathed in red; blood had been spilled over the night. Knight-Commander Meredith and First-Enchanter Orsino stand on either side of her, proclaiming her Kirkwall’s champion for her service to the city,though Marian doesn’t hear anything. Everything is silent around her as she seeks out one face in the crowd. The only person she wanted to see, to confirm that she really was standing there. Mute, Marian watches as Meredith makes more unheard declarations, grabbing Marian’s arm and raising it into the air with victory.Marian renews her search through the crowd with vigour and finally sees him. Fenris is standing there but she cannot make out what he could be thinking. She doesn’t want to be on display for everyone. Marian just wants to go to Fenris and touch him, to make him explain – to utter those words she had screamed in a fit of anger and desperation. Meredith says something again and Marian is the one to break the eye contact that she has held with Fenris. When she looks back, he’s gone.

She doesn’t try to hide the tears that escape. No one will be able to see them.

With the mage-templar relations growing more and more strained, more and more violent by the hour and being tugged between Meredith and Orsino as they snap at one another, no one seems to notice Marian’s suffering. With each passing day, the dark rings of tiredness grow bigger around her eyes and she becomes ragged and sickly. Since Fenris had left herthat night, Marian has fallen deeper and deeper into herself as she tries to continue moving. He doesn’t speak to her unless there is no choice, he doesn’t come near her. The elf had stopped coming to the Hanged Man. Marian didn’t try to force the situation; she retired to her Estate each night and lost herself to lines of lyrium dust. It was the only way to deal, she was stretched too thin and the Estate was too silent with her mother gone. Bethany still hadn’t written to her and Marian knew why: her sister blamed her for their mother’s murder. Lyrium had become her escape route, a way to push away the tension and the guilt and the darkness that was rapidly consuming her. With the Templars tousling with the mages and anyone who dared get in their way, Marian knew that it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

But then it did.

She thought that she had somehow moved past it all. That she could forget how disastrous things had become, that somehow through all the trouble things would become better.

It didn’t.

For days now, it had been raining and Marian had confined herself to the estate, emerging only for business or to satiate the First-Enchanter and Knight-Commander. There was no point going to the Hanged Man; she would only see Fenris sitting in his corner, two dusty bottles of wine on the table as the next hand of Wicked Grace was dealt…she couldn’t bear it.But that particular night the rain had cleared and Marian decided to chance an outing to the Hanged Man. Fenris hadn’t been there, which had been of a relief and the Champion had found herself actually relaxing.

After a quick sniff of lyrium dust after she had lost yet another round of Wicked Grace to Varric, Marian had called it a night. Weaving her way through the streets and up into Hightown with only Scout, her Mabari trotting alongside her. Marian was drunk enough that it was easier to just follow the hound and said hound brought her right outside to Fenris’ mansion. Habit took her inside the servant’s entrance that hadn’t been completely blocked off. Stumbling her way up the stairs,Marian came to a grinding stop, vision swimming in front of her as she tried to comprehend the long line of muscled leg marked with white tattoo and the much darker flesh that was curled around it. Then a low, sultry laugh that she knew too well.

Isabela. 

Marian shows herself out, tripping down the stairs as she tried to shake the sounds of Fenris and Isabela together from her mind.

* * *

Marian sits on her bed, legs parted and hypodermic needle in hand, staring out of the open doorway. Thrask dead, Bethany kidnapped by some idiot as thanks for …well Marian didn’t know what it was for. Bethany was back at the Circle now; several Templars including the Knight-Captain had collected her from Hawke and had promised the Champion that no other mage would endure what she had suffered, which was beside the point. The rebel mages had thought that she could be beaten. Perhaps they had thought that everything that had brought her to that point had been sheer luck that some god had looked down upon her in favour. They were right…and wrong.Marian had targeted them at their weakest point: their mana. Blood mages didn’t rely on mana to cast their spells, but it still helped fuel them, helped them to move and to think coherently.

Marian ripped it all away from them in a roaring burst of energy. They fell like stones and with them, so too did Merrill. Varric had looked first at Merrill and then the mages around them, before looking at Marian swearing as he did so. She saw a condescending look that bordered sympathy cross Fenris’ face and then understanding and this time it had been Marian who would turn away. Belatedly Marian realized she had crossed some unspoken line, fuelled by her heartache and her panic and anger for Bethany. She wouldn’t be able to fix this now. Marian knew it. Still though, she had gone to the alienage and the elf had slammed the door in her face.

Everything was starting to fall apart.

Marian looks down at the slight bruising on the inside of her thigh and the argument she once had with herself every time she took lyrium resurfaced weakly into her mind. How long had it been since she had had that argument with herself? Before it had become easier to feel relief and see and hear with clarity that she didn’t normally possess. Logic was winning over some strange need, Marian looked at her philtre and then her thigh. Her hand begins to shake with indecision and she looks up at the sound of rushed footsteps.Fenris is standing at her door, staring at the needle in her tremoring hand. Marian looks up at him, suddenly feeling hopeless. Fenris looks at his hand, where the lyrium tattoo is peeking out and then back at her and any clue to what the elf could possibly be thinking disappeared.

“I wanted to believe it wasn’t true,” he tells her, emotionless before turning on his heel and leaving her alone. Marian looks back at her philtre as tears blur her vision and before she can doubt herself again, she pushes the needle deep into her thigh, delighting in the harsh sting before the lyrium floods through her.

Days pass in a flood of chores, public appearances and lyrium induced relief. Marian is careful to fit the image of a champion who is balanced and in control when she is anything but. Sleep eludes her most nights, others she cries until exhaustion takes hold of her. Other nights she wiles her time away in the Hanged Man until Varric has the help drag her up to his suite so she can sleep off her drunkenness. It’s a routine that suits Marian as pathetic as it seems. She hasn’t seen Fenris since he last visited her. A confrontation with Isabela a week past had ensured that Varric kept the two women yards apart. When she wasn’t needed, Marian spent her days in with Anders. The mage had strong words for her…choices…but the spirit inside him seemed to accept it– something Marian hadn’t expected at all.

The clinic was beginning to slow for the day - patients always dwindled in the early afternoon – Marian was stocking inventory for the next order of supplies that Anders would need. The mage himself was on his cot in a dead sleep after the taxing morning he had had. The door opened and Marian called out that Anders was indisposed for the next hour. She didn’t expect Fenris’ voice to come filtering through. Marian stood smoothing her tunic flat of any wrinkles and brushing her short her out of her face where it had escaped the band she’d tied around it. Carefully she headed out the front, expecting some sort of anger or confrontation.

She didn’t expect Fenris to ask for her help.

Fenris had tracked down his sister and she was in Kirkwall, waiting to meet him. Her heart is beating faster and faster with each passing moment. She can hear that same, familiar compelling song. Marian can’t hear anything that Fenris is saying as she tries to keep her breathing steady. In a bid to escape from him, she agrees without actually comprehending what he wanted her to do. Tomorrow, he would come for her tomorrow and they would meet his sister – her name was Varania –and Fenris would finally have the answers that he had wanted for so many years. Marian is the first to flee the room, almost tripping over her feet in her haste. Anders thankfully is still asleep on his cot, a small mercy that Marian never had thought she could afford.  
* * *  
Fenris had a lot of women that were fucked in the head in his life and unfortunately, Marian had to count herself as one of them. But Marian would never have stood there and blatantly lied to her brother and Carver at his worst had been the biggest shit she had ever known.

But Varania…Varania held that same anger and bitterness forthe world that Fenris did, that she herself held. Marian was glad that Sandalhad insisted that she wear her ‘boom armour’ as the dwarf called it. She’d lethim do his enchanting thing on the metal kit a few months back and she had toagree that it was a fitting name: anyone that touched her liked to go flyingbackwards. She looks at Fenris casually, disguising her concern for blatantcuriosity. Marian had a hunch and that hunch ended in Danarius. For now, shewas letting Fenris do his thing; she had learnt her lesson with Hadriana. Fenriswas barely reachable, it felt that one wrong move, and one small mistake wouldpush him over the edge and away from her forever. The fear was still a strong,moving one despite the solid wall that had been erected between them.

Fenris looks back at her uncertainty flashing in his eyes.With the smallest of gestures that just barely has her lifting her hand from the hilt of her sword, she gestures for him to continue. The elf nods, the barest hint of a smile on his lips before he turns back to his sister. Then the hatred flows out of her and Danarius emerges like a stinking fart. Fenris swears, Marian sighs. Fenris looks at her again, but Marian ignores him. Danarius is trying to appeal to some sense of greed and power that Marian must possess because she is the Champion of Kirkwall. She replies automatically, her retorts cool and indifferent. She had always imagined a Tevinter Magister to be something like the sorcerers in the stories her father had told her. Couldn’t Danarius see that she was in love with Fenris? Couldn’t Danarius see that she was obsessed with the lyrium that the mage had put in Fenris’ veins? And through all that they had done together,she was unhappy and miserable as she pined after an elf that had chosen the pirate captain who she had stupidly saved from the Qunari.

Those questions circled on repeat in her mind as Danarius tried to appeal to her. She wasn’t interested. She knew enough to keep Fenris away from him. The warbling speech seemed to be continuing in circles until finally Marian had, had enough of the bullshit. She wanted to leech every drop of mana that Danarius possessed until he begged her for mercy and Varania...Marian would start with tying her to a table and slowly etching every single tattoo on Fenris’ body into her skin with her dullest knife.

“If you want him so bad, how about we negotiate?” She snapped, Fenris swore again – this time at her and Marian refused to roll her eyes at him. Had things changed so much? Had she betrayed his trust such thathe would dare believe that she would entertain such an idea? Instead of arguing the point, she drew her dagger at threw it at the nearest mage. Scout was prompted with the move and Marian launched herself at another mage. Death would have to be quick and swift.

The fight is bloody and exhausting. It stretches her to a limit that she had only ever reached once before – when she had been rescuing Bethany. Now it was all for Fenris, for the fleeting freedom that seemed to come and go at fate’s whim. One, two, three vials of lyrium knocked back like they were nips of vodka to keep going, Marian couldn’t even stop to take the opportunity to relish Sandal’s work...or the rush of energy the Lyrium gave her. Danarius just kept conjuring shades that Marian couldn’t stab fast enough. Fenris burned through his enemies, pushing himself through some enemies causing them to simply explode.

Any other person would have been appalled and would have fled the scene. Not Marian. She relished the hum of lyrium as the elf moved, soaking in what she could whenever he flashed by her. Marian took the opportunity to suck all of the mana from Varania. Chance had afforded her the experience and she towered over the elf-apprentice who cowered in a corner even as her master and brother did battle. Marian wouldn’t interfere, she had another job.

“Your brother risked his life to come to you after years of searching. You are lucky that I don't snatch your magic away from you in its entirety” she sneered as Varania sweated in fear and exertion. She pulled outher dagger and traced the bursting sun on the elf’s trembling forehead, pushing just hard enough to leave angry lines of inflamed flesh.

“Those without magic, we call Tranquil here. Emotionless slaves with no thought or feeling of their own. When I do that, what will you have left? Nothing. Danarius would kill you on sight…perhaps Fenris would help you? Why would he want too after all you’ve done?” She told her, voice raised to be heard over the fighting, her words coming out somewhat frantically. Before Varania could say anything more, Fenris had stormed over to them and before she could object and pushed the dagger away from the elf’s forehead with an angry snarl.

It was then that Marian focused back on her surroundings finding the Hanged Man was silent now, broken only by heated conversation exchanged by the two elves in Tevene. The coppery tang of blood reeked now in the Hanged Man, practically drowning out the scent of stale ale and piss.Before she could do or say anything, Varania was stumbling over her own feet leaving Fenris standing amongst the carnage. Déjà vu again, when Marian went to open her mouth – fearing the absolute worse again, tears springing to her eyes when he looked at her with disgust before storming from the ruined tavern, leaving her to pick up the ruined pieces.  
* * *  
Marian had barely stepped through the ruined door way of the abandoned mansion when Fenris had rounded on her, ranting over her audacity for even daring to negotiate with Danarius.

“You’re a fool if you thought I would sell you to Danarius” Marian hissed through clenched teeth. Fenris grabbed her by the shoulder – déjà vu – whipping her around. He shouted at her, she shouted back and she pushed at him, trying to get him to dislodge her. Then he shouted that he would be alone, that all of this had been for naught – a chance to find family, to find peace.

“I’m here; I’m waiting for you like an idiot while you fuck Isabela into that moth eaten chaise you hate so much. I am the one who is alone” She screamed, her back was to the fire and she could feel the flames gently licking her back. Too close, they were moving too close. “You are not alone, I would never leave you alone” she told him, her words calmer and even. Marian looks at the tiled ground as she tries to arrange her feelings into comprehensible words; the hurt over the discovery that he was with Isabela, how she had avoided him…she doesn’t get the chance. Persistent lips smother hers, kissing her aching wanting. Familiar, large hands cupping her face desperately as they kiss. In a moment he has her against the cold wall, pushing her into it as he kisses her hard and desperately and Marian pulls him closer.

When Fenris pulls away, Marian sees the regret in his eyes and the hope that had built so quickly begins to crumble. Already she knew what would happen, it was her after all. She was a liability, a danger. He knows that her affections had begun with the lyrium tattoos on his body, but that it had morphed into something much deeper. It was too much though. Fenris opens his mouth to explain but Marian cuts him off. “I know. I understand” she whispers, her voice cracking with barely suppressed emotion. Fenris shakes his head as he gathers her into his arms, tattooed thumb caressing the line of her cheek in a way that should have been soothing.

“The lyrium, these tattoos, the memories…I should not have left that night, but it is done.” Marian pulls back and looks at him and sighs. Traitorous tears are forming in her eyes, she won’t cry with him so close. Not for him. Instead she turns and picks up the scrap of red fabric that was her favourite bookmark. Stamped with the Hawke crest, it had been the first thing her mother had woven after the Amell name had been restored to its rightful status as noble. Wordlessly, she holds it out to Fenris. The elf looks first at the fabric and then at Marian. He steps closer, closing the gap between them,removing the gauntlet on his right arm and offering his hand to her. As Marian ties it around his wrist, she feels the weight of the unspoken promise that he is making to her: he was hers, even if they couldn’t be together and she, his. Marian doesn’t realize that tears are escaping until a bare finger wipes them away with a sweetness that Marian can just remember. They kiss again, a lingering and sorrowful kiss and Fenris leaves her, his left hand clutching the red fabric on his right arm and Marian turns back to the crackling of flames. 

She sees Fenris the next day. He stands out amongst the carnage of the destroyed Chantry; the red of her mark staunch against the grey of his armour and her heart attempts to soar, but it’s too late to say anything more.

**Author's Note:**

> Dragon Age isn't mine, nor their characters...one day though...one day.


End file.
